glassy sand. To his right, a small bower of scrub greenery nodded in the downpour, waving about frenetically as it soaked up the welcome moisture from the skies.

He flicked his tail to one side, scattering a spray of water and mud, and paced toward the bushes. He shouldered aside a limply hanging limb and nudged himself into the scant cover the vegetation offered. His hindquarters hunched down reflexively from the dripping wetness that coursed accursedly from the sodden limbs above. He sought out the largest bush. Crouching down on his belly, he crept under its meagre cover and nosed at the plant like a cub nuzzling for its mother. A great out rush of air escaped him again, catching for a moment. It hung around him as he settled his chin onto his paws. With eyes blinking rhythmically, he stared out at the grey world around him, absorbing the impressions presented by his senses in silence.

A tickling sensation stirred in his paw. He glanced down, his eyes rolling, blinking as another errant raindrop splashed in his face. An ant trundled among the wet forest of his fur; a small fragment of leaf held in its jaws like a soldier bearing his regiment’s colours into battle. The lion followed its progress with vague interest, watching as it finally descended to the ground and began winding purposefully among the puddles between his forelegs. A rill of water cascaded down Nengwalamwe’s mane, feeling cool as it flowed over the raw patch on his chest. Pooling on the earth before him for a moment, as if undecided, it burst over the wet ground and rolled away. He watched as it crept forward and enveloped the ant. The insect struggled momentarily, and then was swept away.

Nengwalamwe watched impassively as the creature vanished into the mud. He lifted his head slowly and stretched a paw forward, tilted it, blocking the miniature river so that it had to flow about his foreleg. After a moment the ant appeared again, struggling gamely before gaining purchase and crawling feebly up the mountainous paw, pausing a moment on one cracked and scraped pad as if resting. The lion slowly lifted his forepaw, curling it inward carefully, and laid it upon a tussock of grass next to him. The ant wavered a moment, then ran quickly down, alighting on a stalk of grass before waving its feelers momentarily and vanishing from sight. Nengwalamwe nodded silently, staring at the grass before tucking his paw back in place and resting his chin upon it again. The great golden eyes wavered a moment, then closed slowly.

A muffled crunch reached his pain-filled ears and he opened his eyes, peering into the rain dully, feeling the cold mud soaking into the fine fur on his chest, belly and loins. A dim shape, hunched over, was pushing through the other side of the bower, snapping small twigs as it came. The lion watched apathetically, his tail sliding its own width to one side before sinking back out of sight in the mucky earth… then twitching violently. With ears held erect and the fur on his back rising, he stared ahead with unblinking eyes. The rain carried on falling.

There before him stood a baboon, one lanky arm holding a branch out of the way. The monkey’s fur was sodden and drenched, in barely better condition than Nengwalamwe’s. A low wheeze escaped the baboon, and then his eyes flickered and focused, seeing the hulking outline in the mud. His shoulders dropped, drawing the branch close to his head, dipping his free hand into the mud at his feet.

Nengwalamwe remained silent; his jaw hung open slightly, the rain swishing in and rolling back out over his lower lip in a runnel of mixed saliva and water. He closed his mouth with a muffled snap and pulled his head back, hunching his neck down as the baboon moved forward, approaching, swaying unsteadily before sinking slowly to his knees. Lion and baboon stared at each other for a moment in silence, each weighing the other’s thoughts and wondering what the other might feel. As the pair faced each other, the rain fell on…

The lion gave first. Nengwalamwe’s eyes brimmed, his vision doubling, and then trebling, the cold rain on his cheeks now joined with hot tears. His jaw trembled minutely, trying to find some word, some magic that might repair the damage done at the ford in those final moments when the lightning had sundered the world and turned everything upside down.

Mtundu found it for him; sinking down, exhausted, catching hold of a lank tress of sodden mane to steady himself. The lion rolled his head, gaping open his jaws. The ape rolled back, his quivering muscles at the end of their endurance, and sank back against the welcome warmth radiating from the lion’s shoulder. His head curled down slightly, his eyes slipping closed for a moment. Opening them again as the lion drew his teeth together. The baboon peered up into amber eyes, providing all the answer needed to sate their questioning gaze.

Nengwalamwe lay quiescent, his head curled down and in, chin pressed against the top of Mtundu’s hairy forehead. His ears laid flat, filled with the sound of the hissing rain, the rain… and the soft sound of a quiet broken purr.

***

With the increasingly swollen river carrying all within its tossing, pitching, rolling folds surging by to one side, and the barren fringe of the Western desert close by the other, the lion and the baboon travelled on. The river was never out of even the baboon’s earshot while the desert was never far from the lion’s mind.

By night they moved, ever mindful of the canine eyes and ears that might be lurking on the far side of the rushing swell. The lion dare not venture into the desert; the baboon would not have been able to survive there for long. By starlight, they looked for a way out: a way to anywhere. The baboon kept suggesting that they cross back over the river; a suggestion the lion cast aside. What life was there for him there other of fear and anguish? Yet, the desert held them close to the river and the life it offered. The lion thought that it never rained in the desert. Here at least, in the rains, there was water, indeed far too much, though precious little food. Where were the dry rocks? How could there be any in the rains?

By day, the pair slept. Making use of whatever shelter they could find they huddled together, lion curled around baboon, sleeping through the occasional pauses in the ear-numbing rain, or so the lion thought. The baboon often became restless during the day despite having slept little, if at all at night. He would get up and wander about, searching out whatever morsels he could find. Starved of sleep, he became increasingly nervous, often anxiously casting about through heavy eyes. When, during an evening pause in the rain, the lion spotted one of the dogs through the tangle of trees and scrub carried swiftly by the river, the baboon rushed away to hide. The wide mud and rock margins that had formed the banks of the river were gone. The four-length wide once crystal flow now swollen tenfold carried all with it: trees, rocks, bushes, even a pair of wildebeest desperately thrashing for life.

Further on the desert gave way to a thin strip of rough ground and rougher vegetation that clung on to life on the thin sandy soil. Nengwalamwe woke, a little after noon, and thought he saw movement in the distance: a running form, a small leonine form - a cub. It ran down from the closest dune and disappeared into the scrub beside the river. For a short while, it was lost to view, but then it reappeared, clear gold against the browns of the even more distant trees beyond. It stopped on the river’s bank. The river was much lower than it had been for some days. It flowed gently and shallowly along channels etched into the rocks and gravel of the bed. The cub turned, looking along the banks. It turned to Nengwalamwe who, recognising her, smiled in reply. Then she was gone once more, splashing out into the shallows of the river. Scrub obscured his view of much of the river, though Nengwalamwe felt reassured and pleased when the cub he’d come to know so well re-appeared on the sun-drenched opposite bank. She met with no dogs and, after standing to drip for a moment, ran off away from the river.

Mtundu returned a while later, though from where Nengwalamwe had no clear idea. The rain had held off since he had seen Yali cross the river.

“Nengwe, when are we goin’ home?”

The lion lifted his head lethargically. “Where’s home?”

“Nengwe, ya know where; over there, over the river?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not going back.”

“Nengwalamwe, you know what’ll happen now they’ve run ya out of there - Shaha and Falana’ll be next.”

“Falana? … No way. Look Mtundu, there’s no way, get that? No way I’m going back over the river even if the whole pack of dogs comes over here and there’s an end to it.”

Mtundu reluctantly agreed, “OK, OK, so where we goin’?”

“Somewhere, anywhere - how do I know?”

“Downstream. They won’t look fer ya there.”

“Looking for me? What about you?”

“Yeah… right… me too I guess.”

The pair set off, following the river again. The scrub steadily became lusher, the forest that had been the backdrop to Yali’s river crossing seemed further away than Nengwalamwe remembered. Once reached however its height and density did not disappoint, nor did it fail to strike fear into the lion’s heart.

Once within its heart darkness fell, Mtundu grew tired, insisting they stop for the night. Nengwalamwe stood guard amongst the strange sounds and smells,